Small Sacrifices
by emmikuu
Summary: He doesn't ask for much. She's worth all of the small sacrifices he makes.


She had skipped breakfast and lunch that day.

It was nearing five o'clock in the evening and she was beginning to become unsure of which way was up and which way was down. It didn't help that she had pulled an all-nighter last night too.

She was a lost cause, coffee couldn't even help.

Her head swayed as she struggled to stay up during a meeting. Clint sat across from her.

"Tasha," he whispered as her head lulled forward again. He had noticed since the meeting started that she wasn't even paying attention which was completely out of character for her.

"Natasha," he whispered again, a bit louder when she didn't respond. Her head snapped up and she blinked several times. She looked around until she caught Clint's eyes.

She glared._ 'What'_ she mouthed.

He motioned his head towards the door,_ 'Let's go'_, he mouthed back.

Natasha rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and looked away, brushing Clint off.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. He ripped a corner off of the blank note-pad in front of him, crumbled it into a ball and threw it at her. It bounced off of her forehead. She didn't even flinch, but he knew she noticed because her hand tensed into a fist.

Score. The ripped another piece off, crumbled it up and threw it at her. And another. And another. He kept going until she turned her head and mouthed, _'Fuck you'_.

Natasha pushed her chair back, got up and left the room as discreetly as she could. Clint followed shortly behind, a little less graceful and a little more obnoxiously.

When he walked out of the door, he was grabbed by the arms and shoved against the wall.

"What the hell were you doing in there, Clint?" she demanded through gritted teeth.

"You were falling asleep, Tasha, I was trying to get you out," he paused when her stomach emitted a loud growl. "Or at least get you something to eat," he added with a chuckle.

She glared for a few moments, but then relented. Damn him for noticing those small things.

"Yeah, well, we're out," she said, letting go of him and taking a step back. She awkwardly cleared her throat, "What now?"

Clint was already walking out the front door.

Natasha frowned and ran to catch up to him.

"Where are we going?" she asked with a quirked brow. She trusted him, probably more than anybody else, but… she still wanted to know.

"You'll see," he said, rolling his eyes at her impatience.

They crossed the street in silence, down a sidewalk, and they turned a corner. Clint stopped and opened a door to a small diner. She eyed him warily.

"Clint, what are you-"

"Just go," he said, successfully cutting her off. He motioned for her to go inside with his head, "Come on."

She sighed and walked in, taking a seat at a booth by the window.

Clint followed behind and took a seat in front of her.

"Pie," he said, leaning into the back cushions.

"Pie?" she parroted. Did he honestly just have her leave a meeting so they could eat pie together? "It's almost six in the evening, Clint, you can't expect-"

"Pie," he said, cutting her off again. He shot her a smile and turned to wave down a waitress.

A much older woman walked over to their table and gave them a warm smile.

"Oh, I remember you, young man!" she said, patting Clint on the back.

_Odd_, Natasha never knew that Clint went to a diner on a regular basis. Well, regularly enough for an old woman to remember his face.

He nodded his head and gave the woman a warm smile.

"Can we get an apple pie and a cherry pie?" he asked, "Oh, and whipped cream on top." The woman nodded and walked away.

"So Tasha," he started, giving her an easy smile. "Cherry pie still your favorite?" She raised a brow, surprised he still remembered.

"I guess," she said, shrugging her shoulder as nonchalantly as she could.

Clint stared at her for a few moments, studying her face. She stared right back, but she felt a bit unnerved. He'd never know, though.

Their staring contest went on until the woman came back with two plates.

"Here we are- oh! Am I interrupting something?"

Natasha leaned back and cleared her throat, "No. Nothing," she said, shaking her head.

The woman nodded and set the plates down, "Well enjoy!" she said cheerily as she walked away once again.

Clint picked up his fork and took a bite.

"Oh, this is as good as it was last week," he said as he chewed.

Natasha picked her own fork up, cut a piece off and brought it up to her mouth. She put it into her mouth and chewed slowly. It wasn't bad, she decided, it wasn't bad at all.

"How is it?" Clint asked, looking at her intently.

"Good," was all she offered before she took another bite.

He smiled and sighed in relief. The last time he had taken her to eat pie, she spooned out all of the cherries in hers and made him eat them all. She said they were_ too sweet_.

In all honesty, Clint hated cherries, but he ate every last one because it would have been a waste. Ever since then, he searched around Manhattan for a good cherry pie that he thought Tasha would like.

After pie number twenty-six….well, he was glad that she liked this one.

"Every Saturday morning, then?" he offered.

Natasha looked up. The corners of her lips quirked up and she nodded.

"I think I can fit you in."


End file.
